


Crescent moon

by firewoodwander



Series: the obligatory modern au [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Injury, Brief and also non-graphic, Crosshair Smokes, Discussion of Violence, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Smoking, Smut, They're Both Sort of Drunk, Trans Hunter, Trans Male Character, non-graphic injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28367763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewoodwander/pseuds/firewoodwander
Summary: Crosshair sits on the floor of his flat and grips his phone until the case begins to creak beneath his fingers. The cigarette in his other hand threatens to dust the boards with ash, burning steadily down towards his fingers. He listens to the quiet breathing on the sofa behind him, and just tries, for once, not to think.
Relationships: Crosshair (Star Wars: The Bad Batch)/CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo (past), Crosshair/Hunter (Star Wars: The Bad Batch)
Series: the obligatory modern au [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2054547
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

The lights are set low and the window above them is wide open, pouring the last dregs of the feeble, humid autumn breeze into their little corner of the room. Hunter’s last bottle is abandoned on the coffee table, out of reach of his sleep-weakened arms where he lies sprawled on his back across Crosshair’s sofa. Crosshair himself sits on the floor beside him, leant on the edge of the cushion. Smoke drifts up to the window from his lit cigarette; Hunter can’t quite see how his lips wrap around its end for the fact Cross sits with his back to him, head bowed and elbows propped on his knees.

“Maybe I’m just lonely,” he sighs. “Maybe that’s why I’m so restless.”

“Maybe,” Crosshair says, non-committant. Hunter groans lowly and smacks a hand over his eyes.

“Why is dating so hard?”

“People suck.”

“My last girlfriend never wanted to kiss me, for some reason.”

“I know.”

“Didn’t seem to mind anything else.”

Crosshair nods as he pulls on his cigarette. “Doesn’t she call herself a lesbian now?”

Hunter watches the smoke rise and blow away. “…I think she might be a transphobe.”

“Bitch.”

Hunter snorts and flicks a hand to smack the back of Crosshair’s head. He only ducks and goes back to typing something on his phone.

“Do you still talk to Echo?” he asks, propping himself up on his side. Crosshair nods a little before leaning to the right to let Hunter see his screen. _Echo,_ it says at the top of the messenger app, accompanied by his rather pretty face in the little profile picture, cropped from a photograph Hunter remembers Tech taking when they all went to an amusement park together. He’s drunk enough that it’s a little hard to see the individual messages without squinting, but they look amicable enough.

“Makes sense,” he sighs, flopping over onto his back again. “It’s too hard to hate Echo. Just can’t do it.”

Crosshair taps the ash from his cigarette into the tray and hums. “Not a half-bad shag, either. That Hevy guy doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

Heat blooms across Hunter’s cheeks. “Glowing praise from the man whose relationships are more sex than dating.”

Crosshair shrugs, takes another drag, and lets the hand holding his darkened phone hang limply between his knees. “Not with him. He was already a friend.”

Silence stretches between them for a long few moments. The only movement is the up-and-down of Cross’ arm and the smoke that curls up after it, billowing through the air like dancing twists of chiffon.

“Is it easier, then, dating friends?” Hunter asks. He doesn’t expect an answer, isn’t particularly concerned when all he gets is a shrug. “I feel like it would be. Just… Keep the friendship. Only thing that changes is that you’re in love—or could be. It’d be a whole lot easier for me. I wouldn’t have to explain, you know, _everything.”_

“That’s true,” Crosshair agrees placidly. 

“It’s always scarier having to tell them I don’t have a cock than it is asking them out in the first place.”

Another drag of his cigarette. “Their loss.”

Hunter snorts. He lets his head roll to the side to watch the back of Crosshair’s neck before turning his whole body to face him again, pillowing his head on his hands and tucking his hair behind his ear. 

“Go on, then, you said it’s easier with friends. You got someone you’d fuck if they asked?”

Cross taps his cigarette against the ashtray again. “Yep.”

“Hm? Well, I suppose that’s pretty you anyway.”

Crosshair dips forward. Hunter thinks he might be lighting another.

“So… You got a friend you’d date if they asked, too?”

Crosshair tips his head back against the sofa cushion and blows smoke straight up into the air, watching it dissipate with a detached, half-lidded gaze. “Yep.”

“Oh? Who?”

Even from his bad angle, Hunter can see Crosshair’s lips curl into a mean little grin. 

“Now that would be telling.”

Hunter huffs a tired laugh, eyelids drooping, and reaches out to wind the grown-out ends of Cross’ hair around his finger. “How long, then? I’ve not heard about this.”

“A while.” Cross takes another long pull of his cig, burning it down over halfway. Hunter isn’t sure if he imagined the slight waver in his voice or not, but he seems reticent when he blows the smoke away and turns his head out of sight. “High school. Just the one. Back when he still had tits and was made to wear a uniform skirt and buzzed his hair to pass even though he liked it long.”

Another moment of silence falls over them as Hunter turns the words over and over in his foggy mind.

“You’re joking, aren’t you,” he eventually mumbles. He closes his eyes and pulls his hand back from Cross’ hair to swipe it over his face instead. “Don’t fuck with me like that.”

There’s another amused breath from the edge of the sofa before everything slips away, through his grasping fingers like water. He wishes, only half-coherently, that he’d maybe said something before they’d drunk themselves to four a.m.

That Cross would look him in the eye and say it again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [babe can I call - the hunna](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WEppt9tymsg)   
> 

**_Cross brows_ **

_Sunday 23:02_

_You: Sorry I fell asleep on you the other night_

_You: Or morning, even_

_Cross: It’s fine_

_Cross: No need to apologise_

_You: You didn’t need to put me on your bed tho_

_Cross: That’s fine too_

_You: I feel bad_

_Cross: Not like you kicked me out of my own bed_

_Cross: Like_ some _people_

_You: Tech?_

_Cross: Tech_

_Cross: And Echo_

_You: Sorry anyway_

_Cross: I did say it’s fine_

_You: Yeah but :(_

_Cross: How was your shift?_

_You: Long. Loud_

_Cross: Ear plugs not working?_

_You: They can’t block everything_

_Cross: You’re feeling okay?_

_You: The headache won’t last_

_Cross: Why do you work there_

_You: Chefs are usually found in kitchens_

_Cross: Okay smart guy_

_You: Can I ask you something?_

_Cross: Depends_

_You: What you said last night_

_You: You were serious about that?_

_Cross: Yeah_

_You: I don’t want to have taken something the wrong way_

_Cross: Yes, I was serious_

_You: And you_ were _talking about me yeah?_

_Cross: I’m pretty sure the only way I could have been more obvious was to beg for you naked on top of me_

_You: That’s,_

_You: Is that really the first thing that came to mind?_

_Cross: I was thinking about it_

_You: Right now?_

_Cross: When we were talking_

_You: Were you really thinking about that when I was making an arse of myself on your sofa_

_Cross: Yes_

_You: Okay_

_Cross: I don’t really want to make you uncomfortable_

_You: No_

_You: I’m not, it’s fine_

_You: Can I ask what you were thinking about?_

_Cross: You_

_Cross: In my lap_

_You: And?_

_Cross: Not everything I think about is sexual_

_You: …_

_Cross: Most of it isn’t actually_

_You: Yes, however_

_Cross: Fine_

_Cross: You, in my lap, taking off both of our clothes_

_Cross: Riding me while I play with that tiny cock of yours until we both come_

_Cross: Sitting on my face so we don’t make a mess of everything_

_Cross: And if you’d let me hold you after_

_Cross: Fall asleep like that_

_Cross: Or, you fucking me hard and fast from behind on all fours, hands bruising on my hips_

_Cross: Fucking me until my arms give out and you’re pinning me down with my face pressed against whatever you’re doing me on_

_Cross: If that’s a bit much, sorry_

_You: No, no, it’s fine_

_You: Good_

_You: Seriously_

_You: But can you give me twenty minutes?_

_Cross: Go ahead_

There’s a day Hunter remembers—an ordinary day, mostly, one some years ago, but he remembers it well all the same. Not the entire day, of course. Really, the part he sees most vividly when he thinks back on it is the _blood._

“What did you _do?”_ Tech had exclaimed. He’d sounded caught somewhere between exasperation and genuine concern, and Hunter honestly doesn’t blame him. Crosshair, wonderful, bullheaded, quick-as-a-whip Crosshair, had only shrugged and swiped the back of his hand through the mess dripping in rivulets from his nose. There was a cut on the bridge and he was already beginning to swell beneath one eye; the skin around the other was only just losing its fresh-ink redness. Back then he’d already been his leather-jacket-and-cigarettes self, only a sight more beaten up. Wrecker had laughed of course, booming and amused, and asked who the unlucky guy was.

“No clue,” Crosshair had drawled. He’s only a little muffled. “Didn’t exactly wait to catch his name before I broke his ribs.”

Hunter had dug around Tech’s bag for tissues and painkillers on request, all while trying to question their idiot of a friend on his bad decisions. Crosshair took the mothering and the cleaning and the prodding and had tried to dodge their interrogation with his usual moody silence and a particularly sour expression. He’d snapped after a few minutes anyway.

“All right, all right! Stop touching it!” He’d waved off Tech and taken the last of the packet of tissues Hunter handed him. The rest lay scattered around his feet, bloody and crumpled. “They were talking shit, okay? Some real nasty stuff.”

“About you?” Tech asked.

Crosshair, leant forward and pinching his nose like Tech instructed, had shaken his head. “Not me,” he’d said, suddenly drooping like the fight had totally blown out of him. “Hunter.”

Hunter, for all his heart had thudded stutteringly in his chest, had smacked Crosshair in the shoulder without hesitation.

“Fuck’s sake!” he’d hissed. “I don’t want you getting your fucking face broken now, do I?”

Cross’d rolled his eyes as if he’d been expecting such a response. “Not like I’m _trying_ to be your knight in shining armour now, is it?”

“Well you’re doing a bad impression of it!” Wrecker had laughed again. Hunter sighed.

“Well thank you, really. But don’t do that again.”

“Rather heroic, isn’t it,” Tech had agreed with a small smirk. “Quite literally fighting to protect Hunter’s honour.”

“Shut up,” Cross grumbled, and that had, mostly, been that.

Oddly—or perhaps not oddly at all—it’s this rich crimson memory that sits like a loyal puppy at the forefront of Hunter’s mind. Autumn is rushing in now, the night chilling his fingers even when tucked safely at the bottom of his hoodie pockets. His boots slide on the beginnings of the mulching fallen leaves.

_23:47_

_You: I should have asked before, but are you busy right now?_

_Cross: No_

_You: Anything later?_

_Cross: Nope_

_You: Oh, that’s good_

_You: I’m coming up outside your building now_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, finally done :3c I hope this one's good and that you enjoy it! I did my utmost not to let their relationship feel too rushed, but still... there were some things I just wanted to happen. Thank you for sticking with regardless 🤍
> 
> The lyrics don't quite fit I know, but I basically had this song on loop trying to write these two ;~; I think in another world it could have suited them better.  
> [if the world was ending - jp saxe & julia michaels](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1jO2wSpAoxA)  
> 

“Come in.”

Crosshair gestures back inside the flat and lets the door hang open. Hunter runs his teeth over his bottom lip and ducks his head, slipping past him into the hallway and kicking off his shoes.

“Sorry it’s so late,” he says. “I wasn’t… I should’ve thought.”

“It’s fine,” Crosshair huffs. “I’m awake, aren’t I?”

“Aren’t you always?” 

Hunter tries not to think about how he looks like he’s just dragged himself out of bed, barefoot, thin grey jogging bottoms, loose white shirt and all as they migrate towards the sofa. He slings his jacket over the end of it and sits down heavily, already exhausted by the anxiety from conversation they haven’t had yet and jittery with it.

Cross watches him for a moment. “Can I get you anything? A drink?”

“Ah, no thanks.” 

He nods and sits at the other end, slouching into the corner and reaching for the cigarettes he leaves on the windowsill. His hand stops halfway, hovers for a moment, before he decides against it.

“So,” Hunter says. “You weren’t, uh, joking about that?”

Cross’ hand goes instead to his forehead then, leaning his weight on his elbow so he can smirk at Hunter unhindered. “No.”

Hunter nods to himself and curls his feet beneath himself. This was a bad decision, wasn’t it? To turn up on impulse without a clue where to go or what to say? But oh, if there’s even a _chance_ they both get what they want from this… 

“High school?” he blurts out. “That long?”

“Fifteen,” Crosshair agrees. “You were cute. Can you blame me?”

 _“Cute._ Cute? Really?” 

Hunter scoffs and throws himself back into the cushions, crossing his arms and _not_ looking at Cross. “I was a mess. Every damn day there was something new to complain about, not to mention the obscene number of things I was on, and still whinging about those fucking headaches every other minute, and—You really thought I was cute?”

Crosshair’s smirk widens as he turns into his palm to hide it. “You haven’t changed so much, you know. You think you have, but you haven’t.”

“Oh, that’s great. I feel so much better now you’ve said that.” 

“Hm, yeah. Still cute.”

Hunter laughs, torn between humour and disbelief. “So what _did_ change, then?”

Still smiling, Crosshair lifts his face out of his hand to look him in the eye. “You got sexy with it.”

“I…”

“…Too much?”

Hunter splutters and waves his hand vaguely. “No! No, just.” He makes a noise that might be of despair, but might also sound something like how one might imagine imitating a dying whale. “Are we actually going to _talk_ about this or are we only going to talk around it?”

Cross sweeps his other hand out in a small but encompassing movement. “I don’t know,” he says. “Are we?”

For a moment Hunter stares at him, and he stares back. Nothing flickers in Crosshair’s expression beyond the shadow of his amusement, leashed, trapped behind the last of his protective walls. One Hunter hadn’t even realised was still there until recently.

“Force, you’re such a fucking asshole,” Hunter breathes. He twists in his seat so that he’s hovering right beside him, one clammy hand clinging to the sofa back so he doesn’t fall and embarrass himself. _“Me,_ after all this time?”

Crosshair watches him steadily, though he can’t disguise the way his throat bobs when he swallows, nor the flicker of his gaze down to Hunter’s lips. 

“I tried not to. Thought it would go away, tried to ignore it when it didn’t. Tried falling for someone else. None of it really worked.”

Hunter smiles gently. “I know the feeling.”

“Should I be asking you the same?”

“Stop trying to talk in circles.” Crosshair grins slowly, and Hunter feels like he may be gravitating slowly into his space. “We’ll be here all night.”

Crosshair’s gaze flickers across his face again. “And I’m sure we can both think of a much better way to spend our time.”

“As long as you’re sure.”

“Are you?”

Hunter doesn’t stop himself when his hand slips from the cushion and he falls straight into Crosshair. Crosshair catches him just as he catches Cross, hands at cheeks and the backs of necks and lips meeting, teeth bumping behind them and noses getting thoroughly in the way before they both tilt their heads _just right_ and sink into the simplicity of it. The warmth, the glide, the brush of Crosshair’s tongue over his own. It burns like a brand at the edges of all his oversensitive nerves and sends gusts of heat all the way down Hunter’s sternum to pool in his gut, wrenching a blush to the surface of his skin; in his own words, _after all these years_ and his too-late teenage crush is one of the most arousing kisses he’s ever had.

“How many of those did you smoke,” he breathes into Cross’ mouth when they pull apart for air. “You taste like shit.”

Crosshair dives in again, and Hunter can’t help the whining little noise that escapes him. “And you taste a lot better than you did the first time you kissed me.”

Hunter recoils to stare down at Crosshair in alarm. “The first time?”

With a sigh Crosshair lets his head drop back against the back of the sofa. Hunter settles himself properly across his lap, pinning his thighs with his knees so he can’t try to run away, but feels his shock wane slightly when he notices he’s smiling again.

“You were trashed. I took you to your flat, you tried to snog me outside the front door.”

Speechless for only a moment, Hunter gapes at him. “I thought that was a _dream!”_

 _“No,”_ Crosshair snorts. “Or if it was, what a coincidence we both had it.”

“Coincidence… And you didn’t tell me?”

Cross looks away again, over at the fags on the windowsill. “Nah. Didn’t seem like something you needed to worry about right then.”

Hunter brings his fist down on Crosshair’s shoulder—not hard, just enough to betray his irritation. 

“Oi! That—”

“Are you shitting me?” Hunter asks. He might be glaring, but at least he’s looking at him again. “Are you an idiot?”

“Probably.”

With his frustration and tired humour taking over his capacity for words, Hunter crashes into another kiss. Determined now not to let him win, Hunter hums and pushes him back against the cushions when he tries to take control. Nipping at his lip between kissing it and sucking on his tongue, it’s not exactly hard to miss the way Crosshair jerks and rolls his hips up. His hands begin travelling down to the small of Hunter’s back to pull him closer but Hunter grabs them, twines their fingers in a weak moment, too novel an opportunity to pass up, and presses them into the cushion either side of Crosshair’s head.

“You look good like this,” he hums.

“I could say the same for you,” Crosshair shoots back. But it feels like there’s something he’s missing. 

Hunter searches his face, the half-lidded eyes and the corner of the lip pulled between teeth. “Is this… what you wanted? I’m not…”

“Oh,” Cross breathes, “Hunter.” He slips his hands from Hunter’s loosened grip and strokes thumbs across both of his cheeks, pulling him closer to kiss him again chastely. Another kiss is pressed to the side of his nose and then his brow, fingers curling behind his jaw to credible him close. “There’s nothing you need to do. It’s you, just as you are, and I’m not—I’m trying not to rush.”

Hunter frowns to hide the warmth that flushes his cheeks and turns his face stubbornly into one of those cool palms. He can see Crosshair hard in his sweatpants from here, and honestly, he doesn’t much care to think about rushing.

“How long have we been friends already?” he mutters. That’s really no metric to go by; this is probably going to be all strange and new tomorrow, and he has no idea whether he’s about to make it better or worse.

He rocks down in Crosshair’s lap purposefully, enough to notice when his eyelashes flutter and his throat bobs again. His hands tighten on Hunter’s waist to still him.

“Is this what _you_ want?”

From the nervous turning sensation in Hunter’s chest to the desperate need to touch, to be close, to take what is offered now they’re finally here and never let go—

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, fuck yes.”

This time he means to when he falls against Crosshair’s chest. He kisses him soundly, encouraged by every noise and shift and brush of skin between them. When he leaves Cross’ lips again he doesn’t pull away, instead trailing open-mouthed bites and kisses down the column of his neck while he rides each tiny roll of their hips.

“I take it you’d like something done about this,” he murmurs, tugging at the laces of Cross’ sweatpants.

“Only if— _oh, kriff._ Okay.”

“Get it through your head, will you,” Hunter mutters between kisses to his collarbone.

He strokes Crosshair through the fabric of his sweatpants until he gets with the program and begins to slide fingers under Hunter’s clothes. He knocks the shirt from his shoulders and pulls it down to pool around his waist, rucking up the t-shirt underneath and running his hands over all the spots that make Hunter shiver. 

They pull away just long enough for the shirt to be dropped to the floor and for Hunter to peel Cross’ t-shirt off his chest, but then Crosshair’s hands are dipping into the back of Hunter’s jeans and Hunter is groaning, rutting into his lap with greater insistence.

“We don’t have to, but… You want to go somewhere more comfortable?”

“Why,” Crosshair says, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Are you inviting yourself into my bed?”

Hunter grins. “It was so comfortable the other night, you know, but I thought it might be nicer if you were in it too.”

Crosshair sits forward suddenly. He catches Hunter under the thighs and stands up, dropping him to his feet on the floor and tugging him back towards the hallway. Hunter laughs, a little startled, but is quickly cut off when Cross pulls him into another searing kiss while they stumble together. He almost clacks their teeth together again when Crosshair’s back hits the bedroom door; both of his hands are still fisted in the front of Hunter’s t-shirt and holding him close, so Hunter fumbles for the door handle and hopes they don’t both fall to the floor when he finds it.

“This is not how I imagined any of this would be going,” Crosshair mutters against his cheek.

“You imagined it?”

“Oh, shut up. If you weren’t joking about being in the same boat then I know you did too.”

Hunter kicks the door closed behind them and pushes Cross down onto his bed, following after and rolling them across the unmade sheets. He settles on his side, still tucked against Crosshair’s front, and sinks back into making out at a much more sedate pace. The only light is the lamp on the nightstand, softening all their edges with a gentle warm white glow.

“That’s awfully presumptuous of you.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re not, but…” Hunter’s hand returns to his sweatpants and the obvious outline of the hard length tucked into them. “Let’s argue about it later.”

Cool fingers slip down the back of Hunter’s jeans again and pause there, tracing the edge of his shorts. “You’re all right with this?” he asks seriously, chasing Hunter’s line of sight with those piercing eyes of his.

Hunter nods and fights down shivers—of nervousness or excitement, he couldn’t tell you—beginning to gently peel the sweatpants down his thighs. 

“Yeah. Think so. Just don’t… Go in. You know?”

“We don’t have to—”

 _“Cross._ Please.”

Crosshair swallows, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as his fingers slide around the waistband of Hunter’s jeans to undo the button and zip at the front. Hunter leans in to kiss him just as he finally frees his cock and shoves the sweatpants around his knees, making him groan into Hunter’s mouth as he gets a hand around him and starts stroking slowly. He tries to pay attention to what he’s doing, really he does, but he’s quite distracted by the tongue in his mouth and the hands divesting him of his own t-shirt and jeans. He gets to breathe while Crosshair pulls the top over his head and flings it off the side of the bed, gets to try kicking down his jeans and prying them off his ankles without looking like an idiot while Crosshair watches and traces the curves of his ribs with his hands. 

“You going to stare at me all night, or are you going to get something to make this less… dry?”

Crosshair rolls his eyes but turns to his nightstand, unintentionally baring his entire torso for Hunter to reach out and run his hands over. He pinches a nipple just for fun and grins when he gets an unimpressed look back. 

“Here,” Cross says, rapping the small bottle of lube against Hunter’s knuckles. 

“You manage to make it so sexy,” Hunter says, taking it from him and hooking a leg behind his knees as he rolls back over to lie face to face. He uncaps it and drips some over his fingers, rocking his hips into the hands that resettle on his hips. A thumb dips into the crease of his thigh and he bites down his lip. The bottle is discarded and Hunter tries to warm the slick over his hands a little before reaching back down.

“What you said when we were texting,” he begins. Falters. Cross hums.

“What about it?”

Hunter grips his cock and begins to jerk him off as best as his limited experience allows. Palm the head, maybe squeeze around the shaft and back up. “You really wanna do that someday?”

“I’ll do anything you want to.” Hunter looks up to raise a brow at him. The thumb on his thigh moves to tease the edge of his enlarged clit through his underwear. “Within reason.”

Hunter hums with pleasure as he finally delivers on his promises, rubbing him over the fabric and letting him rock into his hand. Hunter speeds up on Cross’ cock in the hopes that something of what he’s doing is what he likes, or that he’d tell him. By the flutter of Crosshair’s lashes and the fan of breath across Hunter’s neck as he leans in to mark him, he’s probably doing all right.

Crosshair busies himself with sucking small marks all along Hunter’s shoulder and kissing back over them messily. The sound and feel of his lips against Hunter’s skin sends sparks down his spine, makes him moan past bitten lips and jerk when he times it to the flick of a nail over his clit. When the hand slides tentatively upwards and begins to pull down the hem of his shorts, Hunter couldn’t agree more.

“Fuck, yes, please,” he says.

“Just over, yeah?” Cross asks. “Not going in.’”

Hunter flushes a little. “Please,” he says again, though his voice comes out a lot smaller. “I haven’t really, er. I haven’t had a guy in there before.”

For a split second, Crosshair pauses where he’s got Hunter’s underwear down his thighs. “If I do something you don’t like, hit me.”

He turns his head then, catching Hunter’s lips in a brutally hot kiss and exploring all the new skin with gentle hands. His palm cups the rapidly dampening apex of Hunter’s thighs and rubs back and forth, at which Hunter’s hand falters on his cock as he pushes into that sweet, sweet friction.

In no time at all Crosshair’s fingers are wet with slick and playing between Hunter’s folds, far too thoughtfully, careful to steer away from his entrance, no matter how much he might be teasing around its edges. Hunter tries to pick up the pace working his cock but Crosshair pulls him away, instead hefting Hunter’s leg up over his waist and refocusing his efforts. 

_“Oh,_ Cross…” Hunter keens and rests his displaced hand on Crosshair’s side, digging his nails in while he rutts over his hand and pulling him ever closer. Encouraged, Crosshair alternates between long, slow strokes through his folds and quick flicks over his clit. It brings Hunter right up to the peak of his pleasure faster than he’d ever like to admit, leaving him coiled tight and trembling when Cross slows down again.

“Don’t stop,” Hunter breathes, leaning forward to pull him into another kiss. He reaches past Crosshair’s arm and grabs his cock again, jacking him quickly with all the tension that’s built up inside him. Cross grunts and circles his two dripping fingers right over Hunter’s clit again, insistent this time, and Hunter arches into his chest with a quiet gasp as he comes.

Cross leaves the soothing hand he has pressed over his cunt and lets go of his leg to twine their fingers where Hunter’s fist has tightened around the base of his cock. Hunter rests his forehead on Cross’ shoulder to watch as they move in tandem, slowly coming back down and letting his breathing settle. Cross shows him just where to touch, swipe, twist as their hands run over his heated skin together. Precome has beaded at the crown and dripped down over Hunter’s knuckles, so it’s little surprise when Cross tenses and muffles a groan only a few minutes later and comes over both their hands.

Hunter is too old to be blushing about a guy coming over him—or at least that’s what he tells himself as he feels his cheeks prickle with heat. Crosshair sighs and goes limp under him, which is the moment his heart decides to leap into his throat with his leftover, belated nerves.

“That was nice,” he says. Like an idiot.

Crosshair hums and rolls to the side, pawing at his nightstand until he comes up with something to wipe them both clean with. Hunter lets him move him about and watches him as he gets up to toss the tissue in the bin. He pulls his shorts back up and tries not to go giddy over the almost _bashful_ aversion of Crosshair’s gaze. Such a rarity.

Cross tugs the duvet out from under Hunter and throws it over him, slipping in beside him.

“It’s late,” he says. “You should stay.”

“Oh, you weren’t thinking of throwing me out _now,_ were you?”

A well-deserved finger digs into his side at the same time Cross settles with his head on Hunter’s shoulder, so Hunter laughs and sneaks the arm behind his back to pull him closer.

“Feels like we’ve done everything now. Any more on the bucket list?”

“We’ll find something or other soon enough.”

“Sooner rather than later if I know anything about you.”

Crosshair shifts to turn off the lamp and they lapse into quiet, half exhausted and half unsure of what the hell they’re supposed to do now. Hunter feels himself slipping towards sleep now that he’s drained of the adrenaline and floating on endorphins, even though he’s still especially aware of the heat and cadence of Crosshair’s breathing against his collar.

“I never said it,” Crosshair blurts out suddenly. Hunter winces as it rings in his ear like a shout.

“What?” he murmurs softly, hesitant.

“I _like_ you,” Cross says. Breathes, really, with some astonishment. “I really—I want to date.”

Hunter can’t help but snicker a little as he drops his head to rest on top of Crosshair’s. “I do, too. That’s convenient, isn’t it?”

Cross pokes him in the side. He does it again when Hunter bites his lip to keep from laughing. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not,” Hunter says again. He presses a kiss into the hair below his cheek and tightens his arm around Cross’ back—just because he can. “I like you too.”

Crosshair falls quiet again, the finger he used to poke now trailing nonsense patterns into Hunter’s hip. It’s nice, being able to hold him so close and be held in return, after so long of thinking they’d never get here. Hunter basks in it, drinks it in, feels himself drifting off again in the vague direction of sleep… But now he’s thought it, he can’t _not_ finish what he was saying.

“If we get Tech to make flower crowns before morning class, I think we could even be married by nap time.”

Crosshair freezes. It takes about three seconds, but then he’s sitting up in a blink and glaring down at Hunter with a vengeance. “You bastard,” he says. “You _are_ making fun of me!”

 _This,_ Hunter thinks, his hands over his face to protect from low-flying pillows while he laughs too hard to fight back, _is exactly where he’s always wanted to be._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me here on [tumblr!](https://firewoodwander.tumblr.com/)


End file.
